


Rent-a-Partner

by kinneyb



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 16:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Quentin's in need for a date to a wedding. Julia recommends a service she's used before. It's simple: pay someone to pretend to be your partner for the day. The company even guarantees no feelings involved, which should be a good thing. (Until it isn't.)





	Rent-a-Partner

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy! If you want your very own fic/want to support me, please go to my Twitter ( queerwaugh ) and view my pinned Tweet. Thanks for the support. <3

Quentin thought this was a wildly stupid idea. Julia did not, obviously.

“I’ve used them before,” she assured him, which was hard to believe. For many reasons.

Quentin squinted at her. “Why would _you_ ever need to pay for a boyfriend?” 

She waved him off. “You don’t get it,” she said, a thoughtful look on her face. “If I try and grab a guy off the street, he won’t understand it’s just a temporary thing. He’ll probably get, like, attached or something. This is easier. A simple business transaction with no feelings involved. Guaranteed.”

He didn't believe for a second it was that easy, but he didn't say anything.

“And you just… call and ask for– ” he trailed off, obviously and painfully out of his element.

Julia touched his arm lightly. “Just call and say you’re seeking a temporary partner. They’ll do all the rest, ask you a few questions and it’ll be over.” She smiled, encouragingly. “It might be good for you, doing something out of your comfort zone.”

He pressed his lips together and debated, again, if he really needed a date to his aunt’s wedding. Second wedding, to be exact.

He’d gone with Julia to most family events and gatherings, and he probably would’ve asked her again if his mother hadn’t opened her big mouth.

_“You’re going to bring… Julia again, hmm?” she’d asked over the phone, all her judgment like needles piercing his skin. “Poor girl; you should really give her a– ”_

_That had finally been his breaking point after years of dealing with his mother's bullshit._

_“Actually, mother,” he’d shot back without a second thought, “I’ll have a proper date to Susan’s wedding this time.”_

There’d been no going back after that; his mother had been thrilled but suspicious, and had told all his other family members by the next morning.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.”

Julia grinned and squeezed his arm. “I hope you get someone cute,” she said with a wink, and gracefully avoided Quentin’s hand when he tried to smack her, laughing loudly.

/

Quentin called them later that night. He plopped on the couch with a big, fluffy blanket and dialed the number, watching his dog, Teddy, as he played with a toy at his feet.  
After a couple rings, someone – a woman, he presumes – picked up, surprisingly professional as she greeted him. Alice, she said.

“And what are you calling about?” she asked after their introductions.

Quentin gently nudged Teddy with his foot as he answered, blushing even from behind the phone, “I, um– I need a temporary partner.”

_How embarrassing._

The woman didn't even miss a beat. “Okay, for what kind of event?”

Quentin swallowed around the lump in his throat. “A wedding.”

“When, and for how long? Where?”

Quentin thought it was a little funny how the woman didn't seemingly care about any of his answers, which made answering truthfully a lot easier. After answering all her initial questions, she continued breezily,

“And what are your preferences?” she asked casually like they were discussing the weather or something.

Quentin blanked. “Uhh.”

Alice finally sounded a little human as she said, gently, “I don’t need details, just something to go off of. Do you want a man or woman? Dark hair, light? Tall, sh– ”

Quentin was probably going to die of embarrassment if she didn't stop. “Anything is fine!” he squeaked.

“Okay,” she said after a few beats.

Quentin sighed. “So, um.”

“Our client will meet you three hours before the event at a public location; don't worry, we will text you closer to the date of your event,” she explained. “They will be wearing a small pin of our logo, which you can view on our webs– ”

Quentin gaped. “There’s a website? You mean, I could’ve avoided all of this?” he blurted without even thinking.

For the first time, Alice laughed, just a huff of air. “Yes,” she answered. “At least you know for future reference,” she said, as if Quentin would ever want to do this again. “Have fun at your event, Mr. Coldwater.”

/

Quentin received the text about a week later. He, of course, rushed over to Julia's tiny apartment and showed her. She hummed thoughtfully. “Nice place. Still can’t believe you didn’t tell them any details, though.”

He huffed and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I was nervous!”

“You might get, like, a super tall, buff woman,” she said, gesturing. “Which for me would be great, but come on, Q, you’re tiny. It'd just look weird."

“Rude,” he remarked but he was smiling, crinkles appearing around his eyes.

Julia grinned and patted his head like a dog. “I’m kidding. I’m sure you’ll get someone great.”

Quentin wasn't so sure of that. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “What if it’s a guy?” he asked after a moment, quiet.

Because yes, he was bi and most of his family knew that, but that didn't mean they were entirely accepting, his mom especially. His mom still acted like it was a phase he would eventually grow out of.

He’d always been afraid to ever show up at a family event with a boyfriend.

Julia hummed softly and wrapped an arm around him, radiating warmth. “Then, you’ll show your bitch of a mother – no offense – that it isn’t, and never was a phase.”

Quentin laughed lightly and leaned his head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Jules,” he said, sincerely. “I really will miss having you there.”

She was, in many ways, his anchor.

Julia hugged him tighter. “You’ll be fine, Q.”

/

Quentin went over to Julia's apartment the day of the wedding, long before he was scheduled to meet up with his partner. Which meant it was early, and Julia looked the part: hair messily pulled back and a baggy sweater pulled over her tiny frame. "Okay," she said, hands on her hips and eyeing him.

He cracked a grin. "I'm getting fashion advice from the girl in a--"

"Think before you speak, Coldwater," she interrupted, but she grinned back toothily. "You wanna make a good first impression, right? You'll be spending most of the day together." She hummed and tilted her head. "Did you bring them?"

Quentin reached over and picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it on her couch. "Is it sad basically my whole closet fits in one bag?" he asked, not really looking for an answer.

Julia shook her head anyway, disapproving. "Yes," she answered, grabbing it. "Now give me a second to work my magic."

He laughed softly and sat on the couch, watching as she went through his clothes. He really did love her, even if she did make a face at most of his clothes and toss them to the floor.

"No offense," she said. "Just not great first date options."

Quentin quirked an eyebrow. "It's not a _real_ date, Julia."

She paused. "Good point," she replied, finally deciding on a pair of black jeans and a thin, blue long-sleeved shirt. "This should do. Blue looks nice on you."

He grabbed them and nodded, already standing up. "Thanks."

When he returned from the bathroom, Julia smiled brightly and clapped. "You look great."

"This is so much more comfortable than that heinous suit I'll have to put on later," he sighed, running his hands over the soft fabric of the shirt.

Julia nodded. "Did you get it resized?"

Oh, right, Julia _had_ mentioned something about that. He grinned sheepishly.

"Q," she whined. "God, whatever." Stepping forward, she kissed his cheek. "Have fun."

Quentin hugged her. "Thanks again," he breathed into her hair.

She patted his back. "Of course. Send me a picture of the dude? Or chick."

"If I get permission first," he replied.

Julia pulled back and fixed his hair. "Such a good boy," she teased. "Now go or you'll be late. Remember: make a good first impression."

/

Quentin showed up at the restaurant and lingered outside the entrance, wringing his hands nervously and looking around for any sign of his partner. God, just thinking that was weird. Fake or not, he hadn’t been on a date in a long, _long_ time.

He checked his phone every few minutes and avoided the questioning, and sometimes sympathetic, looks from bystanders.

He was so not being stood up, especially when this wasn’t even a real date in the first place. His face felt warm, a mix of embarrassment and shame. He _wasn’t_ being stood up, right?

Quentin took a shaky breath and pulled up Julia on his phone, halfway through texting her a “please come get me” text when someone – a man – cleared his throat.

Right in front of him.

He startled and looked up, eyes wide and searching – and sure enough, the guy had a little pin on the lapel of his vest with the logo of the service, just like on the website. Quentin’s eyes quickly shot up to the guy’s face, curiosity eating away at him.

And–

Oh, he was _beautiful_.

Dark, curly hair and warm eyes, dressed impeccably with nice, clear skin and nearly perfect teeth as he smiled down at Quentin. Because oh, right, he was also a fucking giant. Quentin gulped.

He would need to thank Alice later.

"Hi," he squeaked awkwardly. "Um. I'm Quentin."

The man smiled wider, looking genuinely pleased to see him as if he hadn't hired him to pretend to be his partner just a week earlier. "Hello, Quentin," he greeted smoothly as he walked to the door. Quentin followed after him. He opened the door and waited on Quentin first, who flushed and hurried through.

They had a reservation and everything. Quentin was both mortified and impressed.

Once they were seated at a table near the back, Eliot smiled brightly.

"I'm Eliot, by the way. Waugh."

Quentin's nose wrinkled. "Eliot Waugh?" he repeated. "That sounds--"

"Fake, I know," he interrupted, not unkindly. He was still smiling brightly. "But I assure you it's not. We're not escorts, Quentin," he continued after a moment. "There is no need for fake names or shame in what we're doing. It's just a business transaction, like any other thing."

Quentin nodded slowly. "Okay," he said finally. "So. What-- is the point of this?" he asked, gesturing around at the extravagant restaurant.

Eliot seemed prepared for that, answering without missing a beat: "If we want tonight to be believable, we need to know at least the basics and then some about each other." He shifted in his chair. "As for the location, well, it's a good way to get a nice meal on the company's tab," he said, eyes sparkly.

"Oh," Quentin said before laughing lightly. "Fair enough."

Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all, he thought, just as the waiter arrived and took their orders. Eliot knew what he wanted without even looking at the menu. He was obviously a frequent customer, which made Quentin think about how many other clients he'd taken here before. Not that it was any of his business, of course-- Quentin was just a curious fellow.

"Is there, like, a-- a checklist or something we need to go through?" he asked.

Eliot chuckled as he picked up his glass of wine, sniffing if. "Not at all. We just both share what we want. I can go first if that would make you feel better," he added, taking a sip of his wine. When he was done, he licked his lips.

Quentin pointedly looked away. "Yes, please," he coughed out. He wasn't good at socializing at even the best of times-- tonight would be no exception.

"Well, I'm twenty four. You know where I work, obviously, but if someone tonight asks, you can say I dabble in music." Quentin looked up at that, and he smiled sweetly. "It's just a passion project. I'm also quite passionate about fashion if you couldn't tell," he gestured at himself, and Quentin laughed softly. Oh, he could. "My best friend also works with me. Her name is Margo. I'm gay."

The corners of Quentin's mouth twitched.

"Oh," Eliot breathed, pausing and watching Quentin for a moment. "Sore spot?"

Quentin startled and shook his head firmly. "It's-- I'm bi," he said, looking away and squinting. "But my mom. Well, most of my family isn't very... accepting. I mean, they are, kind of. I guess I'm, like-- " He looked back and pressed his lips together. "I'm sorry," he said, flushed with embarrassment. "I-- I ramble a lot. You don't have to indulge me. Or anything."

Eliot smiled again, softer. He smiled a lot, which Quentin thought was a good thing: he had a beautiful smile. "Quentin, I am your boyfriend tonight," he said easily, calmly. "I care about anything and everything you want to say."

He nodded slowly, still feeling a little down on himself.

"And let me say this next thing out of character," he continued, leaning back. "I understand what you're going through and I'm sorry."

Quentin looked up and smiled lightly. "Thanks."

"Mmm," Eliot picked up his glass again and knocked it against Quentin's. "Now drink."

/

Eliot was... _amazing_. He was funny and smart, and he somehow always made Quentin feel comfortable and liked. After they finished eating, they left the restaurant and went for a walk through the city.

"So, what now?" Quentin asked. There was still a few hours until the wedding at 4 PM.

Eliot glanced at him with that fond smile on his face, so natural that Quentin had to look away. "Well, I could go and come back later," he offered. Quentin promptly ignored the disappointment that settled in his stomach. "Or I could stay."

Quentin nodded quickly. "Um. Okay. I-- that sounds good, I think."

Eliot laughed softly. "But you are planning on changing, yes?" he asked, not unkindly.

He pulled at the hem of his shirt. "Uh, yeah, I have a suit at my place. I just-- I'm not like you," he said, glancing at Eliot's outfit. "I was afraid I'd totally make a mess if I wore it before the actual wedding."

Eliot hummed thoughtfully. "Usually we're told not to go back to a client's place," he said, taking long strides with his stupidly long legs. "But I could wait for you somewhere," he continued, "if that works."

"Sure," Quentin replied.

For the next couple of hours they just walked through the city and talked about anything and everything. Quentin suddenly understood why they were meant to meet so early because by the end of the second hour he felt so much more comfortable around Eliot, loosened up. Which no doubt helped in making them look more like a real couple.

"Okay," Eliot said, coming to a stop. "You should go get changed now."

Quentin startled and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, yeah, you're right," he breathed, a little embarrassed he'd lost track of time so easily. "Um. You'll just... wait here?" he asked, unsure.

Eliot smiled, soft and sweet. "Yes, if you're okay with that. Is your place far?"

"No," Quentin replied, shaking his head quickly. "Okay. I'll be right back. I'll-- uh, hurry."

Eliot chuckled and folded his arms over his chest loosely. "No rush, sweetheart."

And that--

_that_ made Quentin's mouth fall open.

"What?" he squeaked sharply.

Eliot's expression quickly shifted, eyebrows drawing together. "I'm sorry," he said. "Your profile didn't mention anything about being adverse to pet names," he said.

Quentin swallowed around the lump in his throat. "No, um. I'm not." Or, well, he never had been in his previous relationships but they were all real. "I just-- wasn't expecting it," he finished lamely. His hands were impossibly sweaty.

"I'm sorry," Eliot repeated, and he sounded sincere. "I should've warned you. Pet names, we find, help most in convincing others the relationship is authentic."

Quentin nodded mutely. That made sense, of course, he was just still reeling.

"So, you are okay with them?" Eliot asked, as if making sure.

Quentin blinked a few times and nodded again. "I-- yeah," he breathed. "Fine."

"Good," Eliot said, smiling brightly. "I'll be here when you get back."

Quentin turned and started off in the direction of his apartment.

/

He got dressed quickly and spent some time on the phone with Julia, sitting on his couch. "He called me sweetheart, Jules," he breathed, staring at Teddy as he hopped all over the place and chased a toy. "That's-- is that weird?"

Julia laughed softly. "No, Q, that's what they do," she answered. "You okay?"

"Yes," he replied. "Just... it's been a while, you know. I guess-- I don't know."

He could practically see the expression on Julia's face that she always wore when she was comforting him, soft and sweet. "You told me a while ago you were perfectly fine with being single," she said. "But you're not, are you?"

Quentin shrugged sharply. "It's not, like-- I dunno," he sighed heavily. "It's weird. Doing this. It's like I really didn't think I _was_ lonely, until I realized I was?" he said, almost a question. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I gotta go, okay?"

"You'll find someone, Q," she said, sincere as ever. "After this, I'll make you a profile on all those dating apps you make fun of me for," she said, and now he could easily picture the grin on her face.

He laughed. "Can't wait," he joked, standing up and petting Teddy on the head before heading for the door. "Wish me luck."

"I'm always wishing you luck," she said.

/

When Quentin arrived back at the spot he'd left Eliot earlier, he saw he was on the phone and smiled lightly when Eliot whispered "one second". He said something to the person and hung up, looking apologetic.

"Sorry about that," he said. "We're advised not to be on the phone around our clients." He tilted his head and smiled tightly. "It's rude."

Quentin laughed and waved him off. "I won't tell anyone, I swear," he said, sincerely.

"Thank you," Eliot replied, stuffing his phone in his pocket. "It was my friend I told about you; Margo." He sighed and looked away, a fond smile on his face. "She always checks on me."

Quentin thought of Julia and smiled too, just as fondly. "She really cares about you," he said, a statement. "That's good."

Eliot looked back and watched Quentin for a moment. Then he smiled again, a little softer. "Yeah," he agreed, clearing his throat. "I called us an Uber while I was waiting. Should be here any second."

"God, I am so not looking forward to any of this," Quentin said, staring at each passing car. "Not because of you. Just-- my family is... kind of a lot and not in a good way." He shrugged. "My dad was the only, like, sane one and he passed away a couple years ago."

Eliot grew a bit stiff. He nodded curtly. "I'm sorry."

"No, I--" Quentin laughed sheepishly and ducked his head, hair falling over his eyes. "I should not be telling you my sob story. Jesus."

Eliot tilted his head, loosening up. "I can't say that's the first time I've been called that," he purred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Quentin laughed again and swatted his arm. "Please do not talk like that around my mom," he said, bright eyed with laughter.

"The words you are saying and the look on your face do not match," Eliot said, grinning toothily. "I think you _very_ much want me to be raunchy around your mom."

Quentin's laughter could barely be heard over the roar of the approaching car.

/

The venue was already crowded when they arrived; Quentin's good mood disappeared almost immediately as he climbed out of the car and waited as Eliot did the same, joining him as they looked out over the beautiful lawn, full of lights and decorations. Quentin sighed loudly.

"Guess there's no more putting it off," he muttered unhappily.

He took a step forward and Eliot stopped him. "Wait," he breathed. "One second."

Quentin stood there and watched as Eliot fixed his tie, probably more slow than necessary. Then he reached up and-- oh, Quentin was frozen in place as Eliot softly brushed his hair out of his face and behind his ears.

"There," he said quietly. "You look great."

Quentin swallowed around the lump in his throat. His brain was all over the place: this is all fake, don't do it, you big idiot, do _not_ catch feelings. He quickly turned away and entered under the archway brimming with flowers.

"I'll get up some drinks," Eliot said after a few moments.

Quentin smiled gratefully and watched as Eliot walked off. Of course, because God hated him, that was the exact moment his mother approached him, looking critical as ever. She looked him up and down.

"Hi, Q," she said. "You look... hmm," she looked away. "Where's your date?"

He pressed his lips together, ignored the anger. "_He's_ getting us drinks."

His mother's head turned back to him. "What?" she asked, a bit scandalized, very judgmental. "Quentin, you did not--"

Just then, like a saint, Eliot reappeared with a couple drinks. He handed one to Quentin, smiling brightly. "Q," he said, and maybe, just maybe, Quentin _really_ liked how his nickname sounded coming from Eliot's lips. "This is your mother, yes?"

Quentin cleared his throat and nodded. "Uh, yeah. Mom, this is Eliot. Eliot, this is my mom."

Quentin's mother turned her attention on Eliot like a hawk, watching him, looking him up and down. Quentin felt a swell of pride, even knowing Eliot wasn't his real partner, because there was no chance she could find an issue with him (well, beyond being a guy). He was polite and well dressed and absolutely beautiful.

"You should not have ruined your poor aunt's wedding by bringing a guy," was all she said, turning back toward Quentin with a frown. "You should know better, Quentin."

Oh, well. Quentin hadn't expected any less-- his mother might not be able to find a flaw in Eliot, but he was an easy target. Frowning, his shoulders slumped. "I was just--" Being myself, he thought bitterly, sadly.

"See, you don't even have an excuse for yourself," his mother added with a scoff.

Quentin watched as she turned and walk away. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting; he knew his mother was a bitch, but somehow he was still disappointed and sad and honestly? He just wanted to go back to his apartment and sleep for seven hours. His eyes burned with the familiar sting of tears.

"Hey," Eliot said softly and wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his shoulder.

Quentin startled, almost forgetting he wasn't alone. He looked up. "Sorry, um," he laughed and wiped at his eyes. "God, I am a grown ass man about to cry about-- about my stupid fucking mommy issues."

Eliot smiled, not unkindly. "Hey, we're a perfect match. I've got daddy issues and you've got mommy issues." He winked. "We balance each other out."

Quentin laughed, sudden and sharp. "Jesus Christ, Eliot," he said, shaking his head fondly. "I-- can I be honest?"

"Of course," he replied without missing a beat.

Quentin sighed heavily and looked out among all his family members. "This isn't my family," he breathed. "My father was my family. My friends are my family. I just-- I don't know why I even bothered showing up."

Eliot hummed and rubbed his shoulder again. "Maybe to do this?" Eliot released him and stepped away; Quentin looked up just in time to watch, horrified, as Eliot stepped up onto a chair and clapped his hands. "May I have your attention, bitches?"

"What the-- " Quentin hurried forward and smacked Eliot's leg. "What are you doing?"

Eliot patted the top of his head and smiled brightly. "Quentin has something he's been wanting to say to all you lovely people for a very, very long time," he said as he jumped down from the chair. "Go on," he whispered.

Quentin gaped at him, not moving. But then Eliot was pressing a hand to the small of his back and guiding him onto the chair. He stood beside him like a true partner as Quentin scrambled for words.

"Um. I-- I don't-- "

Everybody was staring at him. His mother, his aunt, all his cousins who'd bullied him relentlessly as a kid.

"You know what," he started over. "Fuck it. You're all some of the worst people I've ever met and frankly I don't consider any of you my family." His mother gasped, and so did a few other guests. Quentin only felt more confident as he went on, "I've always been nothing but good to all of you and for what? You used me and taunted me and-- and my dad was the only one who treated me with any fucking respect. And now that he's gone? Fuck it," he repeated with more venom. "I'm done-- have fun, all of you, but I'm out." He jumped down from the chair, where Eliot was waiting for him with a surprised, but giddy grin on his face. "If you ever think about inviting me to another family event, don't."

Quentin could hear his mother yelling as he ran out of the venue with Eliot.

/

"Wow, wow-- that was-- " Quentin said, stuck between laughing and crying. "Wow."

They were back in the city, walking along the sidewalk as the sky turned dark. Eliot smiled softly and patted his back. "_That_ was fucking art, Quentin," he said. "I'm proud of you."

Quentin looked at him and smiled back, equally soft. His heart thrummed loudly. "I never would've ever done something like that on my own. Or-- or even with Julia." He would totally need to call her later. "And I feel like maybe I should be regretting it or something but I'm not." He looked away and grinned. "I actually feel pretty fucking good."

Eliot's hand lingered on his back as they turned a corner, nearing Quentin's apartment.

"We should stop here," he said.

Quentin stopped and ignored the disappointment that settled in his stomach. Right, this had been nothing more than a job to Eliot and now the night was over. The job was over, and they would go their separate ways. He'd known that since the beginning, so why did he feel so upset?

"I hope you had fun tonight?" Eliot said, a question.

Quentin swallowed thickly. "Yeah," he breathed. "Um. Yeah."

"Good," Eliot said, and for a moment they just stood there, neither of them moving. "I-- I guess that's my cue to go," he said, a bit sheepish. "I hope if you ever need our service again, request me?"

Firstly, Quentin did not know you could do that. Secondly, he was feeling really, really brave tonight.

"Wait," he said, wringing his hands. "Um. Could we like-- I don't know," he shrugged sharply and felt like an idiot as he stood there in the cold, so desperate for this. For a real chance at a relationship with Eliot, a professional Rent-a-Partner. "Could we go out? Like... on a real date?" he squeaked.

For a long, long time Eliot did not say a word. He looked away. "Q," he said softly.

Quentin frowned. His eyes stung again. "Never mind," he said. "I know you can't. I just--"

Eliot reached out and gently took one of Quentin's hands, squeezing lightly. "I'm so sorry, Q. I-- I'm not going to lie to you; I would love that, but our company policy strictly states we can't date clients." Quentin looked up and was startled by the look of sincerity on Eliot's face. "I'm so, so sorry. I-- I hope you have a great night, okay?" he finished, quieter, squeezing his hand again before letting go. "Goodbye, Quentin."

/

Julia walked into the living room and sat down beside Quentin on the couch. Teddy started barking at her arrival and she gently shushed him, pulling Quentin into his arms and petting his hair.

/

Quentin was stocking books when the overhead bell went off, signaling a new customer. He sighed and stood up, dusting off his pants as he turned and-- "Eliot?" he asked, genuinely surprised. Eliot stood in front of the counter, looking wildly out of place. Quentin briefly glanced around before rushing over to the counter. "Wh-- what are you doing here?"

Eliot smiled sheepishly. "Definitely not looking for a book," he joked weakly. Then, more somber, "I really fucking hate reading, Q."

Quentin couldn't help it; he laughed, sudden and sharp, and quickly covered his mouth. "Um. Okay," he said, calming down. Seeing Eliot, even a week later, still kind of hurt, which was stupid, probably. They'd only spent a night together, and the whole thing had been nothing more than a job for Eliot. Quentin had always been known to get attached quickly, to be fair. "Then... what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Eliot replied breezily.

Quentin's heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"Long story," Eliot answered genuinely. "But to shorten it: I'm here to ask you on a date."

Quentin blinked. Once, twice. This was-- no way. He had to be dreaming. He reached up and pinched his arm. "Ouch," he whispered, and smiled sheepishly at Eliot's concerned look. "No, no, um. Go on?"

"I told the head of our company I wanted to quit," he cleared his throat, "because I was interested in... well, you." Eliot smiled warmly. "But after a long talk, he decided that maybe the policy was a little unfair and should be reformed. So..." Eliot paused, biting his bottom lip. "Quentin Coldwater, would you be willing to go out with me? Preferably," he checked a watch he didn't have, "as soon as fucking possible?"

Quentin was-- well, honestly, a little speechless and wildly giddy. "Yes!" he exclaimed after a moment. "I-- how about after I get off?" he asked, gesturing around at the mostly empty shop. "It'll be, like, two hours. Tops."

Eliot nodded, smiling widely. "Okay," he agreed easily. "Two hours. I'll see you then."

"Okay," Quentin replied quietly, still awed as Eliot smiled and waved before walking out of the shop. He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket. He was glad he had Julia as a favorite because his hands were quite literally shaking. "Jules?" he said as soon as she picked up, grinning. "You won't _believe_ what just happened."


End file.
